The Unloved Boy
by FionaTheGoat
Summary: Jago Ozias is called by the residents of District 7 the 'Unloved Boy'. But what will happen when he is reaped for the 57th Hunger games?
1. Chapter 1

I wield the heavy metal axe in my battered hands as I swing it back and forth to gain momentum. As I raise it up level with my head, I let it swing, and it hits the brittle wood of the tree with a satisfying thud. Despite the heavy hit, the tree bears little damage. The cut made by the axe is small and nearly non-existent. Small pieces of bark litter the grass that is in the shade of the mahogany tree.

I sigh and rest against the trunk of a larger adjacent tree. The thick leaves formed on the branches create a small canopy that gives me some shade from the searing heat that has made itself at home in District 7 over the last week. Only one hit, and already I am exhausted from the heat and from the dread I feel about the next day. The terror is already creeping its way into my stomach, devouring the butterflies fluttering around hopelessly in there.

I wipe the beads of sweat from my forehead, and stand up straight again. I readjust my grip on the axe and turn to face the targeted mahogany tree. I concentrate, and swing the axe again, this time making a larger impression on the wood. Furiously, I start hacking at the tree, destroying it hit by hit.

For a mahogany tree, it is unusually thin, and within the hour, it lands loudly on the forest floor. The surrounding trees stare straight ahead, unaware that one of their friends has just dropped down dead.

I collapse on the ground as I try to regain my breath. The sharp sun pierces my skin with its rays, and I feebly raise my left arm in front of my face in an attempt to shield myself from the worst of the heat. I regain enough energy to sit back up, shuffling over into the shade of a neighbouring tree. I settle myself against the sturdy trunk as I brush off the remaining bark from my sweaty shirt.

As always at the start of my daily routine, I question my motives. Why? Why do I spend my weekends chopping trees down endlessly just so I can scrape a living? Because I live in District 7, that's why. Under the cruel reign of the Capitol, most of the residents of this miserable town is in poverty. Since I'm under eighteen, I still have to go school. But every weekend I venture far into the sprawling forest that surrounds District 7. I chop down as many trees as I can before sunset, then go back to town where I can hopefully sell some of them to buy something more worthwhile.

I scramble back onto my feet, my tired leg muscles strained. My feet ache from standing up for too long in these worn leather boots. I reluctantly pick up the axe again, the weight of it taking its toll on my exhausted shoulder,

I wander over to a tree, if you can even call it that, it's so ridiculously thin. With one clean cut from the axe, its top half is chopped off completely. I heave it over my shoulder and throw it down beside the tree I cut down earlier.

For the next three hours, I relentlessly slash at a large tree. With every hit of the sharp blade, I feel as though I lose part of my soul. As the bark splinters off, I feel like I'm going insane. The tree hits the soil loudly, and as I drag it over to the other trees, I notice the sun is in the centre of the sky. Registering the low grumble in my stomach, I pull out my lunch from my sack. It's just a slice of whole meal bread and a small chunk of ham, but it'll have to do. After a quick swig of some water, I feel refreshed and ready to work.

Two trees later, and I realise I have enough wood for the day. I tie the trees together in a bundle securely with a rope. I tie the other end of the rope around my waist. I place the axe into my sack, which I sling over my shoulder. The trek back to town takes half an hour, which is made no easier when dragging half a dozen trees. On the move, I spot some kale and berries, which I harvest with my knife and throw into the sack.

The closer I get to town, the more people I see cutting down trees. I usually stray far into the forest, where there is a better choice of trees. Here, in the area close to town, there is a few thin trees. All that is left of the rest are stubby tree trunks. The trees that the other citizens are cutting down look worthless. But the trees I am tugging behind me equal up to a weeks worth of supplies.

I think what most people lack in District 7 is a bit of common sense.

I glimpse the first sight of town. It's a large town, mostly made out of small wooden huts. Except from a few factories, which is where I'm headed.

As I plug on through the rough streets, the residents of District 7 look at me. _Jago Ozias, the Unloved Boy_. The older people growl at me under their breaths, and the mothers turn away their children when they point at me in awe.

I'm something of a legend here in the lumber district. My mother died at birth. My father was killed in a small uprising he created when I was ten. After that, I was spurned out onto the street, left to fend for myself. At first, I begged on the streets, stayed in small rundown shacks, which I suppose is where I got my nickname. But over the years, I learned how to survive. I started cutting trees at the weekend, sometimes even after school, which I would trade at the factories. Whenever I could, I would look for food in the forest. I found a permanent place to stay.

Another reason I was well-known was because of the strength I had developed over time. It was common knowledge of my strength that rivalled any other man in the district. Of course, this made most people paranoid that I could rip their heads off. Which believe me, was very tempting, from some of the looks thrown my way.

"Ozias! Over here!" a voice from behind me shouts. The only people around here who hide their fear from me are the Peacekeepers.

"Unloved Boy! Didn't you hear me! Get over here now!" the same voice jeered. I grit my teeth, remembering about the axe that I still have tucked away in my sack. It would be a total coincidence if they found an axe hurtling their way.

Before I can move, however, a sharp pain hits my back. A whip. The pain is hot at first, the flesh still shocked from the suddenness of the attack. It burns, spreading over my skin. I groan as the painful sensation sinks in. From somewhere behind me, I hear two sets of voices guffawing merrily.

"What?!" I snap, spinning around whilst my fists ball up in fury. Head Peacekeeper Gretch perches on the stairs of the Justice Building with his creepy sidekick whose name I could never remember, both flanked in their ridiculous white Peacekeeper uniforms.

"Just wanted to say hello." Gretch says, seriously, before him and his sidekick burst into laughter again. I resist the urge to go back and kick them.

I leave them laughing at their own jokes, and walk through the factories until I reach the one I usually go to. It's unusually quiet, with only a few exhausted workers left. Here, the workers change the trees into something worthy of the Capitol. What they do, I don't know, but all I care about is how much money I get in return.

Webb, the worker who deals with the trading at this particular factory, is a nervous, bumbling young man. Who knows, maybe he could be Mr Charisma? But around me, he's as outgoing as a mouse. He pays fairly though, which is all that really matters to me.

"Jago! What have you got today?" he asks, fumbling about, dropping some of the sticks he's carrying in his arms. I unravel the rope, hoisting the trees upright.

"Looking forward to tomorrow?" Webb attempts at small talk with a horrible joke, as he dumps the sticks on to a workbench. I respond with a dark glare. It's alright for him, he doesn't have to face it.

As I hand each tree over to him, he gives me a small handful of coins in payment. I get an extremely high amount for the mahogany.

I heard it's very extravagant in the Capitol.

I say goodbye to Webb, and leave the factory. I choose to skip going to the market today, but decide to splurge out tomorrow night in celebration, if I make it. I stroll through the streets of District 7, winding my way back home. The sun is setting on this May evening, sending a golden glow over the dusty roads.

As I turn in to my street, the young children playing there stop silently. Some of them even begin to retract back into their houses. They are about nine or ten, old enough to know to stay clear of me, but young enough so they don't have to face the terrors of tomorrow. I give a reproachful look to a particularly bold red-haired boy who tries to stand in my way. I brush him to the side, and approach my front door. The red paint is peeling off, and some sort of vermin has chewed through the decaying wood.

Pushing the door open, I hear the strains of a television coming from the kitchen. I creep down the hallway, past the first bedroom and into the small kitchen. Frank, the old man who lets me stay here for a small amount of money each week, sits at the kitchen table, counting a stack of coins and watching some important Capitol announcement on the old battered television.

"Here," I say, throwing a handful of coins on the wooden table.

"Take it kid," he replies without looking up, sliding the pile of coins back over towards me, "if you're still here by Monday, you pay up. Okay?"

I nod in agreement, shoving the money back in my trouser pockets. I wander over to my cupboard.

"Want anything to eat?" I ask the old man.

"No thanks," he says, just as the credits on the television roll up, "I'm off to bed."

Frank stands up slowly and goes into his bedroom. I rake through the cupboard until I find some rabbit meat, which is usually the only meat I ever eat. I throw it in a pan of boiling water, along with some potatoes and carrots. After leaving it a while to cook, I eat it straight out of the pan. As I eat, I turn my attention to the television.

Ceaser Flickerman has helped to host the Hunger Games for over forty years, and yet he hasn't aged a day, thanks to the Capitol's surgery. Ceaser is sitting in a plush armchair on a stage in front of a crowd of adoring fans from the Capitol. He's interviewing a man dressed in a purple cloak, the Gamemaker's uniform. From the beard he's sporting that any man would be jealous of, I assume he's the Head Gamemaker.

"So, what do our Tributes have to look forward to this year?" Ceaser asks the bearded man in his usual charismatic self.

"I'm afraid I can't say, my friend." the man says charmingly, scratching his beard.

"Let's just say, they might get a bit of a surprise." the man chuckles, which the audience responds to with more laughter. I scowl, standing up and switching the television off forcefully. I hate all of them, no matter how charming they try to be.

I go to my room, where I check my reflection in the cracked mirror that hangs up on the wall crookedly. Scratches and bruises litter my face. My short black curls lie unusually flat against my head. My face bears the resemblance of someone with no purpose in life, someone who wastes their life away. I splash my face quickly with some cold water. I check my back in the mirror, which believe me, isn't easy to do. The area where I was whipped is red and rough, but thankfully, not bleeding. My hands are gravelly and covered in cuts. I gently mop up a particularly deep cut.

I collapse on my mattress, exhausted, and wait for the nightmares to come.


	2. Chapter 2

I wake up with aching back muscles and searing pain where the whip lashed me. The nerves begin to roll in. This year, I can feel it, I will be reaped. As I get up, stretching my arms, I remember the bad dreams which plagued me the whole night. I can only remember flashes, one which included me drowning in the bowl with all of the reaping tickets.

I stand up and dress in my best clothes. A white buttoned shirt and grey dress trousers, with my leather shoes. A quick glance at my pocket watch I inherited from my father told me the reaping ceremony started in an hour.

I amble through to the kitchen where Frank is devouring a slice of bread. He is also dressed in his best, a white shirt, black trousers and a grey waistcoat. Looking in the cupboard, I decide to use the last of this month's tesserae by making some porridge. This year, I applied for lots of tesserae, resulting in so much reaping slips I lost count. In my sixth year, I think I must have over one hundred slips in that reaping bowl. I don't even care.

I dump the remaining oats and grains into a pan and make something that resembles porridge. It tastes revolting, but it's better than nothing. Frank stares at me the whole time, his eyes wide and sympathetic. I stand up to leave.

"Good luck kid." Frank says, the first thing he's said to me the whole morning. Then, remembering about all those reaping slips, he adds, "You'll need it."

I thank him, and leave our small wooden hut. I take what might be my last glance at it, and start walking down the street. The roads are packed with families, the elderly, small children who don't understand the importance of today, and the teenagers like me whose dread shows on their faces. I push through the throngs of people, determined not to be late. I've heard the stories about people who have been late to the reaping ceremony.

In fifteen minutes, I arrive at the town square. The Capitol people have obviously spent a lot of time preparing for today. A large screen is set up behind the stage. Peacekeepers line the outskirts of the square, machine guns ready in their hands. There are several camera crews dotted around, ready to record the happenings. The teenagers are roped off in their different sections, all nervously biting their nails. The rest of District 7 are standing around the edge. Only about half of the population are present so far.

I get registered and go to my section. Looking around, I see a few familiar faces from school. Some of them smile hesitantly at me. The rest of the district flood in. The roped area becomes more squashed by the minute.

Silence falls over the square as Finbar Breccan, District 7's escort, climbs the stairs to the stage. This is only Finbar's second year as escort. He seems ridiculously young to have such an important job. He can only be in his mid-twenties. Today, he is wearing a lime-green suit and a bright orange shirt to match his hair. Other than his tropical hair, however, he seems relatively unaltered, except from his silver lips, or course.

Behind him, Crispin Kit sits down on a wooden chair that looks like it might collapse under his weight. Crispin might have won the Hunger Games over thirty years ago, but he hasn't lost a pound since. With his amazing strength, he easily obliterated the rest of the Tributes. Crispin is one of the only men in the whole district who could win a arm wrestle against me. Every year since he won, he mentors the chosen Tributes from District 7. There have been four other winners from our district, but they are either dead, depressed or so obsessed with drugs that they can't remain conscious for longer than an hour, never mind helping save someone's life.

Finbar bounds about the stage, welcoming us, before the Mayor comes up. Mayor Jotham is a portly man in his forties. He's not the best of mayors, but he's as nice as you can get. Unfortunately for him, he has to give us the same speech he gives every year.

Panem is a country that was once called North America. But after all of the disasters, North America was half destroyed, and the world was left with Panem, a Capitol with thirteen surrounding districts. For a while, Panem was a happy, peaceful place. But then came the Dark Days. The Dark Days were a result of many unhappy citizens, which created a massive uprising against the Capitol. Twelve of the districts were silenced, but the last was destroyed. Every year since, the Capitol have hosted the Hunger Games as a reminder to the districts that they have ultimate control over them. Because the only thing worse than killing you, is killing your children.

At the reaping ceremonies throughout Panem, one boy and girl from each district is chosen to be a Tribute in the Hunger Games. After a few interviews, parades and training days in the Capitol, the Tributes are thrown in an arena, which changes every year. There is only one rule in the Hunger Games; kill, or be killed. There can only be one victor, who wins a lifetime of food, money and pampering.

But for the unlucky twenty-four teenagers who are chosen, it's unlikely they will ever see their home districts ever again. Of course, it's possible to volunteer for someone the same gender as yourself, but in District 7, that's known as 'suicide'. However, those who fancy their chances at winning can volunteer, and volunteer they do. But that's usually only people from districts 1, 2 and 4, the districts who illegally train for the Hunger Games as they grow up. In District 7, we call them 'Careers'.

Mayor Jotham finishes his speech, and steps down from the podium. Finbar takes his place. He starts off with a few jokes that nobody laughs at, then becomes serious.

"The reaping ceremony marks the start of the 57th Hunger Games!" Finbar shouts enthusiastically. "That being said, let the Hunger Games commence!"

"Ladies first!" he exclaims, walking briskly over to the bowl which must hold the slips for the girls. A few of the girls standing beside me tense. Finbar rummages through the thousands of slips, finally choosing one of them and thrusting it up in the air. I feel for the unlucky girl, I really do.

"Lilibeth Vita!" he proclaims.

The name doesn't ring any bells, but I vaguely recognise the girl who is shakily pushing her way forward. I'm pretty sure she's in the year below me at school. Her black hair has been neatly separated into two plaits. Her faintly tanned skin has turned a pale white. Although she's not necessarily a weakling, I can't see her surviving in the Games for very long. Those skinny arms don't look like they can handle a sword, somehow.

Lilibeth makes her way up the stairs, being remarkably brave for someone who has just been told she will almost definitely die. Her face is ridden with grief and fear.

"Are you Lilibeth Vita?" Finbar smiles encouragingly at her once she reaches him, shoving his microphone in her face. She nods, as though she is scared to speak.

"Any volunteers for Miss Vita?" Finbar asks hopefully. The Capitol citizens love nothing better than a volunteer. A few of her friends in the roped section next to me look visibly upset, but none of them volunteer to take her place. Finbar registers the silence, his face falling. Lilibeth bows her head, presumably to hide the tears streaming down her face. She isn't fooling anyone.

"Well, moving on!" Finbar continues, walking over to the other bowl. "Who will be our male Tribute?"

Finbar makes a rustling noise as he searches through the slips. I panic as I think of my hundred slips. He pulls one out, waving it above his head proudly.

"Tobiah Jotham!"

Instead of relief showing on the faces of all the boys, panic is shown on their faces, as well as all of District 7. Not Tobiah Jotham. Anybody but him. Nobody had ever worried about him. He only had one slip in thousands.

Tobiah Jotham is the Mayor's son. He's the sweetest person you'll ever meet. He's barely a day over twelve. He's spent his whole life in the luxury of his house, he's not prepared for something like this. But the worst part is, he's crippled and has to use crutches to walk around. We all know he'll be killed instantly in the Hunger Games.

Mayor Jotham's face is grim and lined with terror. I feel terrible for him. To want to save his only son, but knowing he can't do anything to stop it. His older sister, Tally, is pleading with a Peacekeeper, asking if they can change the rules. Tobiah struggles to mount the steps with his crutches. Finbar's face is empty of any pity, which makes me hate him even more. Crispin has been staring ahead the whole time, without even flinching. I can't imagine what it feels like for him. To mentor two kids every year who almost always die. The guilt he feels must be unbearable.

It's a mix of all of these things that urges me forward. Mayor Jotham, who doesn't deserve his son to be cruelly snatched from him. Tally, who would blame herself for not doing enough. Tobiah, who is too good a person to die so young. Finbar, and all of the Capitol residents who love to see us die. Crispin, who is fed up of having no hope.

It angers me. It's a fury I've never felt before. My cheeks burn red. My chest flares with a fire that cannot be put out. I shove my way through the crowd. Some move out of the way in time, but those who are too slow end up on the ground. I end up at the front of the roped area, in full view of the stage.

"I volunteer!" I shout. The previously mumbling square quiets. Finbar looks at me, grinning widely and gesturing for me to join him on stage. Tobiah looks confused that a near stranger has saved his life. Tally looks shocked, but smiles at me gratefully. Crispin moves for the first time since he sat down, assessing me through his small eyes. Mayor Jotham looks relieved and does a salute towards me that is famous in District 7. It means "thank you".

I walk over to the stairs, keeping my head held high. When I step onto the stage, Finbar shakes my hand and leads me over to the podium.

"A volunteer! What is your name?" he asks, holding the microphone in front of me.

"Jago Ozias." I answer boldly. The words echo around the square through the massive speakers.

"Are there any volunteers for Mr Ozias?"

I've long since accepted that no one loves me, but it still stings when the square becomes as remote as a sleeping sloth.

"Very well then! I present to you, your two Tributes! Lilibeth Vita and Jago Ozias!"

No one applauds, something that Finbar isn't prepared for. He fills up the silence by making Lilibeth and I shake hands. She clasps my hand gently. Despite having labelled her earlier as a small threat, there's a glint in her eye that tells me she isn't afraid to kill me.

The Mayor then drones on with the Treaty of Treason. The anthem of Panem plays. The anthem ends, and the people are dismissed. Most of them scurry out gratefully, but a few of them look back at us. I take my last look at the residents of District 7, before some Peacekeepers escort us to the Justice building.


	3. Chapter 3

At the Justice building, we are navigated through endless corridors. Lilibeth and I are separated into two small adjacent rooms. We are told we have an hour to say goodbye to our loved ones. After, we will be thrown on the train to the Capitol.

The Peacekeeper guarding my door smirks knowingly at me as he closes the door behind me, leaving me alone in the room. It's very fancy, although I'm sure it's nothing compared to what they have in the Capitol. There are many plush armchairs and sofas set up, as if they are expecting lots of visitors. I think of Lilibeth in the next room and her numerous friends and family. I can't help but feel slightly jealous.

I lie down on one of the sofas, preparing for an hour's worth of relaxation and trying to clear my thoughts. But barely seconds after I settle myself down, the Peacekeeper pushes the door open.

"A visitor." he grunts, surprised I have any at all. It's Frank. I have to admit, I'm pretty shocked Frank cared enough to see me again. He sits down on a chair opposite me. I push myself up so I can see him properly. We sit in silence for a few minutes.

"My son, he was in the Hunger Games." Frank finally says. "Many, many years ago. He was one of the first to die."

I can't believe Frank had never told me. But it did explain why he lived alone.

"Do you know how it feels? To watch your own son die for the entertainment of others?" he asks me dryly. Even though I know it's a rhetorical question, I shake my head. Frank wipes away a spilled tear, before walking over to the door again.

"Good luck kid." he says, pulling the door open. "Make District 7 proud."

And with that he is gone, the door closing behind him. I lie back down, considering what Frank said to me. The door opens again. It's the Jotham family, all four of them. I stand up.

Tobiah hops over as quickly as he can, and hugs my waist tightly, the highest part of my body he can reach. Tally beams at me. The mayor's wife is weeping and thanks me numerous times through her tears. The mayor stands in the corner until his family have finished with me. Tobiah, Tally and their mother leave, but not before saying thanks again. The mayor makes sure the door is closed before he sits down in an armchair.

"Thank you." he murmurs. "Is there anything you want? I'll do anything."

I think his offer over in my head. There's nobody I love. I can't think of anything I'll need when I'm almost certain to die. But then I remember something. Something Frank told me nearly four years ago. I can't really remember how the conversation went, but he told me that when he was much younger, he owned a horse. The horse was his best friend, and was even able to help him with cutting down trees.

Frank, out of all of the people in District 7, has been the nicest to me. Also, I remember the rent I owe him, that I never paid him.

"Frank!" I blurt out. "Frank Gerrit. Buy him a horse."

Mayor Jotham nods in understanding. He stands up to leave, striding over to the door. "Good luck."

He is gone, hopefully to the stables. I still have most of the hour left, so I lie down to wallow in my own depression.


	4. Chapter 4

A Peacekeeper wakes me up, then takes me out to the car that is taking us to the train station. It's the first time I've ever travelled not by foot, and from the expression on Lilibeth's face, I can tell this is special for her too. Finbar sits uncomfortably between us, awkwardly trying to break the silence. We arrive at the station, and as I get out of the car, I see the cameras surrounding us from all sides. I keep a straight face, giving them what I hope to be a forbidding stare. Lilibeth, however, smiles gently at them. Finbar ushers us inside quickly, but not before he flashes a smile at the cameras.

The train is even better furnished than the Justice Building. The carriages seem to go on forever. It's all chandeliers and velvet carpets, of course.

Almost immediately, we lurch out of the station, the train gathering up to its 250 miles per hour. We're reasonably close to the Capitol, and we should be there by sunset tonight. The trees speed past, and I prepare to say goodbye to District 7.

Finbar leads me to my own chamber, complete with my own bedroom, dressing room and bathroom. He tells me to dress quickly and be ready for dinner in half an hour. I stray over to the drawers where the clothes are supposedly kept. Taking out all of the clothes, I notice they are all very expensive and extremely ridiculous. The only plain thing I can find is a grey waistcoat and matching trousers, with a frilly white shirt. The shoes are pretty extravagant, but they're the only ones that fit my large feet.

After experimenting around with the gadgets in the bathroom, I go through to join the others in the dining carriage. The dining carriage contains a large dining table and at least a dozen chairs set around it. Finbar, Crispin and Lilibeth are already civilly sitting down, waiting eagerly for my arrival. But it's not my company they anticipate, it's the prospect of tucking into the mounds of delicious food sitting on the table. Dish upon dish of gorgeous food is piled along the table. Meat, fish, vegetables, fruit, bread and desserts. Everything I could ever want. My stomach rumbles hungrily just by looking at it.

I sit down excitedly, picking up my fork and knife. Finbar tells me to spread out the small piece of cloth, apparently called a 'napkin', over my lap.

Finbar tucks in, dolloping heaps of mashed potatoes onto his plate. Lilibeth nervously follows his lead. Crispin looks rather bored, and doesn't even touch any of the food. I help myself to a lamb chop. It's the first time I've ever had lamb, and it's at least ten times better than my usual rabbit. We eat in silence for a while.

"So, tell us a bit about yourself, Lilibeth." Finbar says politely. Lilibeth looks about timidly before answering.

"I'm Lilibeth Vita. I'm sixteen. I'm clever. Cunning." she surprises me by saying. Lilibeth Vita does not look like the sort of person to be cunning. With her youthful looks and mouse brown hair, she looks about as cunning as a sheep.

"Interesting." Finbar murmurs. He turns towards me. "What about you, Jado?"

My fists coil up when he can't even be bothered to remember my name properly, but after years of suffering from much worse, I just shake it off. I don't want to tell my story to Finbar, because I know he will judge me, and lose interest in me completely. But Lilibeth answers for me.

"He's seventeen. His mother died at birth. His father died in an uprising a few years ago. In District 7, we call him 'The Unloved Boy'." But instead of turning his plastic nose up at me, he leans forward in his seat, desperate to know more. Crispin also starts to pay closer attention, although it's likely he already knows it all.

"He's one of the best lumberjacks in the whole district. He's pretty muscly too." Lilibeth points towards my bulging biceps. Finbar nods in approval. I wish I could help Lilibeth by impressing Finbar with her, but in all honesty, I don't know anything about her.

"I'm going to watch the other reapings, if you care to join me." Finbar wipes his mouth delicately with his 'napkin'. He pushes back his chair and leaves the dining carriage. Lilibeth clatters her cutlery down and follows him. Crispin still doesn't do anything, only stares at me long and hard. I lean over the table for a second helping of treacle pudding, and I notice that the plush dining table is made of mahogany. I can't help but wonder if it was me who supplied the wood to make it, and wonder what starving, cold and diseased Panem citizens provided the ingredients for the meal I just ate. Disgusted and put off the treacle tart, I go through to the lounge.

Finbar and Lilibeth are relaxing on a sofa, watching a television screen that is at least ten times bigger than Frank's. I sit down beside them.

A tough boy from District 1 volunteers instantly. There's something about his face that's very menacing. The girl chosen from District 1 looks far too small and innocent to be from the luxury goods district, because most of the teenagers in the crowd look like they could snap a spine in half. District 1 train teenagers for the Hunger Games, which is technically against the rules.

A similar looking boy from District 2 also volunteers, along with a square-jawed girl. District 2 are the favourites of the Capitol. Officially, they are the stone mining district, but it is well known that most Peacekeepers are supplied from there. The teenagers from there are also trained, and they are the most likely to be the victors.

District 3 offers two young teenagers, and just by looking at the two, I can tell they will be one of the first ones to die. District 3 are the technology district, so they don't have much advantage weapons-wise. But believe me, it's been known for teenagers from District 3 to win by using their clever contraptions.

District 4 is the fishing district, and they supply two sparkling Tributes. They are the last of the Career districts, along with 1 and 2. It's likely they will be part of the Careers, and they're definitely contenders to win. With their amazing accuracy with tridents and skills with knots, they're a force to be reckoned with.

The two kids reaped from District 5 both look younger than fourteen, and look like they've never had a proper meal. Their district supplies electricity, so it's likely they'll never see home again.

District 6 are probably in charge of this train, because their speciality is transportation. The two teenagers reaped from there don't look like a threat at all.

Then the cameras change to show the reaping from District 7. They make Lilibeth look even more vulnerable. The commentators sound less than excited to see her chosen. And then Tobiah's name is read from the slip, and the commentators coo sympathetically, although it's easy to tell they're not too happy that he was picked. Someone who is killed instantly is no fun at all.

That's why they go crazy when I volunteer. They shout and jump and laugh. By my muscles and fierce face, they can tell I'm going to be a fighter.

That's when I leave, because it sickens me, hearing the Capitol people being entertained by me. I go through to my bedroom, and lie down on the bed. I wonder what the time is, and I reach into my trouser pocket to check the pocket watch. But then I remember it will still be in my old trousers, so I go through to the dressing room to look in the pockets. But no matter how much I rummage through them, I can't find my father's pocket watch. Then I realise it must have fallen out my pocket at the reaping, and I never noticed.

Just like that, the only thing I have left of my father is gone. And for the first time in years, I cry. I ball myself up on the bed, and cry myself to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

I wake up from my second nap of the day by a loud rapping on the door.

"Rise and shine! We're nearly there!" Finbar shouts enthusiastically from outside the bedroom door. I grumble and roll over on to my back. I shuffle over to the mirror, where the tears have left streaks on my cheeks. Still half-asleep, I stumble out of my chamber. When I enter the lounge, Lilibeth is standing at the window in amazement.

"It's even better than they say." she tells me. I wander over to the window. Lilibeth is right. The clips of the Capitol they show on television don't even capture the beauty of the city. The evening sky is a mix of pinks and oranges. The tall towers spiral into the clouds. Couples in ridiculous clothes walk down the pavements. They turn and point in excitement when they see our train. I give them a sullen look, but Lilibeth smiles.

"You missed supper. Are you hungry?" asks Finbar as he strolls into the compartment. I shake my head, because I'm still full from lunch earlier.

"Have either of you seen Crispin?" Finbar worries. "I haven't seen him since lunch."

"He's probably in his chamber." Lilibeth shrugs.

The train pulls into the station. Finbar hurries us off and into yet another shiny car waiting for us outside the station. There is still no sign of Crispin. The drive to the Training Centre takes us about half an hour. The Training Centre is where we stay until the Games begin. Some Tributes don't arrive until tomorrow morning, so we will sleep here tonight, and then prepare for the opening ceremony tomorrow.

The Training Centre is ridiculously tall, and has a different floor for each district. Each floor has a bedroom for the tributes, mentor and escort, as well as a lounge and dining room. An elevator takes us up to the seventh floor. It's the first time I've ever been in one, and the peculiar sensation makes my stomach twirl.

Capitol buildings look just as nice on the outside as they do on the inside. Our floor is modern and full of technology I don't even understand.

"Well, we have a big day tomorrow. I think we should be off to bed." Finbar smiles, and then strides off to his bedroom. I say goodnight to Lilibeth and Crispin, and go to my own bedroom.

It's huge, probably about the same size as Frank's whole house. The floor is soft black carpet, and the walls are a pale cream. The bed sits on its own raised platform. The en suite bathroom is complete with a toilet that flushes itself, a shower with hundreds of buttons, and a bath that is more like a small swimming pool.

I'm not very tired, so I have a shower. It burns my skin at first, but after hammering some random buttons, it cools down. I experiment with the different soaps and bubbles, but they sting my various cuts. I dry myself off with a fluffy white towel.

I pull on some shorts and a vest, then crawl into bed for a sleepless night.


	6. Chapter 6

After breakfast the next morning, Finbar drags Lilibeth and I to the Remake Centre, in preparation for the opening ceremony. There, we meet our stylists. I have a middle-aged woman called Adira, who seems a bit too ditzy to have such an important job. She speaks to me for a while, then introduces me to my prep team. I can't even remember their names, but the three of them look more like aliens than humans. Adira leaves, telling me she's going to prepare my outfit.

The Martians wash me several times and get rid of the numerous layers of dirt that coat my body. They chatter away about pointless things like a dance they went to last week and what they bought yesterday on a shopping spree. I zone out, because their conversations sicken me. Just as they go to cover my cuts and bruises with some sort of lotion, Crispin bursts in through the door.

"Excuse me, what are you doing?" one of the Martians asks indignantly in their silly Capitol accent.

"Keep his marks." Crispin says breathlessly. It's one of the only things I've ever heard him say.

"And why should we listen to you?" says a different alien.

"Because I know what I'm doing." answers Crispin fiercely , before exiting the room again.

Although they were pretty brave standing up to Crispin, they're obviously scared of his tough exterior, and they leave my scars alone.

"All done!" one of them chirps. They leave the room, and Adira enters. She circles me several times, eyeing me up and down.

"I can see why your mentor wanted to keep you like this..." she murmurs. She tosses me a robe. "Follow me."

She leads us out onto the corridor. Crispin is waiting on a seat outside. I smile gratefully at him. Adira, however, ignores him completely and carries on down the corridor. She turns into a larger room and sits down on a sofa. I sit down opposite her.

"I know what you're thinking. Why do I want to be a stylist for District 7?" she says in her dreamy voice.

To be honest, it had never crossed my mind. But now that I thought about it, it was quite strange. For the victory parade, the Tributes are dressed up in a costume that somehow represents the profession of their home district. District 1 are by far the most desirable to style. A stylist could have endless fun with satin and diamonds. That's why it's quite odd that Adira wanted to style District 7. In District 7, the Tributes have dressed up as trees for as long as I can remember. Designing tree outfits doesn't sound very exciting.

"Trees, as part of nature, are one of the most beautiful things our earth can offer..." she says, without waiting for me to answer her previous question. "The way that the sun hits the bark and casts shadows... The leaves that blossom out of the branches, adding the most subtle of colours..."

"Uh-uh," I grunt unenthusiastically. Already, I can tell Adira will go off on lots of these rambles. With her purple curly hair, earrings in the shape of frogs and her dress made out of blue tinfoil, the impression of insanity lingers about her.

"Well, your costume's going to take a while, so we better get started. Come on, I'll take you to the makeover room."

Adira takes me to the makeover room, where she dresses me in a tight white all-body suit that covers my feet. Then her and the prep team paint the suit, which takes them hours. I have to admit, they're very good. I'm painted in a range of different browns, and by the end I look just like any other tree. Then they paint my face to match the rest of my body. Adira hands me a ludicrous brown hat with sprouting branches. Bursts of green leaves emerge from the tips. Reluctantly, I pull the hat on, and can feel my dignity slipping.

By the time they are finished, there's only an hour left until the opening ceremony. We go to the bottom floor of the Remake Centre, the stable, where the horses pulling our chariots are getting ready. When we arrive, Lilibeth is already there with her stylist, who looks just as crazy as Adira. We are dressed identically, so at least I draw some reassurance that we will look equally stupid. She gives me a tentative smile, and I can tell the nerves are getting the better of her. The whole of Panem will be watching.

The other Tributes are billowing around. Thankfully, some look just as stupid as us. Especially the pair from District 10, who are dressed up in cow costumes. Two Tributes stand out from the rest of us, however. It must be the District 1 Tributes, judging by their silk outfits adorned with sapphires and emeralds. The male Tribute is even taller than me, and his biceps flex as he eyes up the male District 2 Tribute. He's your typical Career.

But the girl Tribute looks different. She's small and thin and innocent. She looks as though she's better at making daisy chains than throwing spears. She has blonde hair and pale skin that reminds me of an angel.

But before I can look at her any longer, Finbar bounds up to us.

"You look fabulous!" he squeals loudly. I don't know what Finbar's definition of 'fabulous' is, but it definitely doesn't match mine.

The opening music begins to start. A wide door opens up, revealing the crowd-lined street. The whole parade will last twenty minutes, and will need up back at the Training Centre. The other Tributes start to board their chariots, and we follow suit. All of the Tributes are attached to four glamorous horses, which are all so well trained they don't even need to be driven. I carefully climb on after Lilibeth. The chariots are lined up in order of the districts, and the horses pulling the District 1 chariot are already trotting out.

The loud scream of the Capitol citizens increase as they catch sight of the Tributes from District 1. No marvel, they look amazing. As the other Tributes roll out, the clapping and cheering grow louder and louder.

"Good luck!" Finbar whispers up to us, as our horses begin to trot out of the door.

Immediately, I am blinded. The bright lights, neon signs and spotlights all shine in my face. I start to bring my hand up to shield my eyes, but then remember that the crowd will never recognise my face from their programme. So I am forced to squint unattractively to stop the worst of the light from dazzling me.

The crowd go wild at seeing another two Tributes. They begin to chant and clap. They wave flags, posters and lights.

I refuse to smile at them, but I attempt to wave. From somewhere behind me, I hear someone shout my name.

"Jago!" they scream. They're the only person nice enough to have looked up my name in the programme. I look behind me, but the shout is lost in the crowd of screams.

Lilibeth taps me on the shoulder and points at the large screen. It's our snippet of the spotlight. We look just as stupid on the screen as in real life. I look glum and depressed, which of course I am. Lilibeth however, is smiling and waving to her admirers, even blowing kisses. I give the crowd a tight smile, in an attempt to make myself more charismatic. More charisma, means more sponsors.

Sponsors are an essential part of survival in the Hunger Games. The money that the sponsors donate to you help you receive food, medicine and weapons in the arena. The more sponsors and money you have, the more gifts you're able to receive, therefore the more likely you are to win. Unfortunately, a lot of the sponsors aren't too bothered about how skilled you are, rather than how much they actually like you. Usually, that means the good-looking and charismatic Tributes get all of the sponsors. Meaning that the tough guys like me are left in the dark.

From the way Lilibeth is acting, I can tell she'll be a favourite with the sponsors.

After twenty minutes of agony, we arrive at the City Circle, where all of the prestigious buildings are. The chariots stop in front of President Snow's mansion. He steps out onto the balcony, and gives us a short speech. On the screens, each chariot gets a small segment of camera time. It flashes through the different districts whilst the president drones on.

He finishes his speech and the anthem plays one last time. The chariots parade around the City Circle, before going into the Training Centre.

I jump out of the chariot, relieved that it's all over, but knowing the worst is yet to come.


	7. Chapter 7

No matter how much I toss and turn, my body refuses to let me go to sleep. Flashes of the reaping, my father, and even the girl from District 1 fly through my mind. I wriggle against the soft satin of the bed sheets as I try to lie comfortably.

After a few hours, I realise it is hopeless. What I really want is some fresh air. So I go out into the corridor and ask a Capitol attendant where I can get some.

"Take the elevator to the twelfth floor, and then take some stairs up to the roof." he answers in a robotic way.

"Thank you." I nod to him.

"You're welcome, sir."

As I walk towards the lift at the end of the corridor, I'm overwhelmed by the manners of the Capitol attendants. I can't remember the last time I was called 'sir'.

The elevator takes me up to the twelfth floor quickly. From there, I find the stairs that the attendant mentioned. The stairs lead to a domed room with a door to the outside.

As I step out into the cool night air, I suddenly become very aware that I'm only wearing shorts. The breeze doesn't help. I walk over to a railing at the edge of the roof.

The street below is surprisingly busy, considering it is the middle of the night. The lights of the city shine bright as ever. Several residents stumble out of pubs or nightclubs, laughing and cheering. Cars still bustle past. The Capitol never sleeps.

I breathe in the fresh air. The noise of the city has a calming effect on me. For a moment, I forget all of my worries. Until I hear the voice from behind me.

"Aren't you cold?"

I spin round at the sound. It came from a boy the same age as me, lounging on the edge of a flowerbed. Even in the shadows, I can see he's very handsome, which leads me to think he's from District 4. As he emerges into better light, I can see he has spiky brown hair. He's slightly taller than me, with an athletic build. He's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, which again makes me feel very self-conscious of my lack of clothing.

"Not really." I shrug, even though I have to stop my teeth from chattering.

"Stellan." the boy offers his hand to me.

"Jago." I smile, accepting his hand.

"So what brings you up here, Jago?"

"Couldn't sleep. How about you?" I reply.

"The view." Stellan grins, turning back to the railing and looking out at the city. "Isn't it amazing?"

"It is." I agree, looking over at a particularly rowdy building. "It's a lot more exciting than District 7."

"At least you have trees! In District 4, there's only water, water and water."

"So, what skills are you hoping to bring to the arena?" I laughed.

"I'm best with my trident, of course. But I can be pretty handy with knots. What about you?"

"My muscles, of course." I chuckled, flexing my biceps. "Nah, I'm pretty good with an axe."

We stand in silence for a while, admiring the view of the Capitol.

"So, do you want to, like, hang out tomorrow?" I ask him nervously. Allies are always a good idea in the arena, and so far, Stellan is the closest I have to one. The Training Days are the perfect excuse for us to bond.

"Oh, well I'd like to, but y'know..." Stellan mumbles, looking down at the ground.

And then I remember. Stellan is from District 4. He is a Career. He doesn't have to join the Careers, of course, but he could fit in perfectly.

"It's fine, honestly." I laugh it off.

From then on, it's pretty awkward, and we barely talk. I can tell I've ruined Stellan's midnight wandering, and he leaves soon after with a glum farewell. I've also ruined my night, so I take the elevator after him down to the seventh floor, where I fall straight asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

I wake up the next day with a banging at the door.

"Wake up! Breakfast is being served!" Finbar chirps.

As I groan and roll over on to my front, I remember my escapade last night. I'm not sure if I can trust Stellan, because he's from District 4. He's supposed to be a Career. But he doesn't seem like a Career. In some Hunger Games, people from District 1, 2 and 4 run away from the Careers, go solo. But that usually means that they are especially hunted by the remaining Careers.

I don't pay attention to what I clothe myself in, because I know Adira will change me into something more suitable for Training Day. For three days, we are able to train in the Training Centre. There, we are able to improve and learn fighting and surviving skills. At the end of the third Training Day, each of the Tributes will be given a fifteen minute private session with the Gamemakers. They will then give us a mark out of twelve, which will help the sponsors to decide who to give their money to.

When I get breakfast, Lilibeth, Finbar and Crispin are already eating at the table.

"You're late, Jado." said Finbar coldly. "If you want to win the Hunger Games, you're going to have to learn how to be on time."

I ignore him, because I know my time-keeping skills won't help me survive.

We all eat breakfast in silence. Just as Finbar is away to take us down the elevator, Crispin leads me away by the shoulder.

"What's your best skill?" he asks me as he turns to face me.

"Axes." I answer simply, remembering my conversation with Stellan the night before. Crispin nods, frowning.

"Do not even _touch_ an axe. You hear me?" he says fiercely.

"I guess. But why?"

"We don't want anyone else to see what you can do." he smiles. "Take my advice; learn some things you don't know. Okay?"

I nod, and he lets me take the elevator down below ground level.

I have to admit, Finbar is a very good escort. He gets Lilibeth and I to Training fifteen minutes early, and we are one of the only people there. Stellan is there with the girl from District 4. He smiles at me, before the girl catches him and glares at him.

When everyone has joined the circle of Tributes, Atala, the head trainer, gives us a short explanation of what will happen here. There will be various stations set up around the hall with experts to help us. After her speech, Atala lets us free.

Lilibeth immediately shoots off towards the edible plants station. I revolve on the spot, trying to decide which station to try out first. The axe station is very tantalising, but I stay true to my word. Instead, I head over to the shelter station to learn some basic skills, since it's not an area I'm particularly familiar with.

The gymnasium is huge, filled with weapons, weights and obstacles. Most of the Tributes have already spread out to stations, some more experienced than others. The Tributes from District 1, 2 and 4 have already assembled at the spear station. The male from District 1 seems to be the alpha male, and is directing the rest of the group. The pair from District 2 and the girl from District 4 listen intently, nodding at times. Stellan is at the edge of the group, and doesn't appear to be listening. He looks very uncomfortable, and is looking longingly at the trident station.

Then I realise someone is missing from the Careers. It's the girl from District 1. It takes me a while to locate her. When I do, I see she is painting dreamily at the camouflage station. She's not even painting on herself, but a blank canvas propped up in front of her.

I am jerked back to reality when the trainer at the shelter station asks me if I need any help. When I nod, he begins to demonstrate different kinds of shelters and how to make them. By lunchtime, I have the hang of things.

At lunch, I sit by myself in the dining room off the gymnasium. Lilibeth sits near the pair from District 10. The Careers have already bagged the biggest table, and no-one dares question it. Again, the girl from District 1 is missing. They seem to be having a rather heated conversation, and it all seems to be aimed at Stellan. After a while, he storms over to my table.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asks me without looking at me.

"Take a seat." I tell him, and he slams his tray down on the table angrily. He doesn't speak to me, but I already have a fair idea of what's going on.

After many exchanged whispers over at the Careers' table, the boy from District 1 swaggers over. If I could even call him a boy. He sends a frustrated look to Stellan.

"Jago, right?" he smiles, holding out his hand. I ignore his hovering hand.

"That's me." I reply stiffly, turning back to my food.

"We were wondering if you would like to join us for lunch." he grins, pointing to the rest of the Careers, who aren't even bothering to pretend they aren't looking.

Being invited to sit with the Careers is like code word for being asked to join them in the arena. I look at the table of Careers, who all look smug. I look at the boy who came over, who is glaring at Stellan. I look at Stellan, who is frozen, his face hard.

"No thanks," I turn back to the boy, "I like to go solo."

The boy stiffens, as do the rest of the Careers. They are taken aback. No one resists the Careers. And I just did. Stellan looks up, a smile playing on his lips.

"You'll regret this." the boy turns nasty, cracking his knuckles menacingly.

"I'm sure I will."

The boy sulks back to the rest of the Careers.


	9. Chapter 9

From then on, Stellan and I travel from station to station together. On the condition that he teaches me how to tie knots, I agree to teach him how to use a knife.

At the knots station, he teaches me how to make a knot that would be useful for making snares.

"So why'd you quit?" I ask him the question I'd been desperate to ask for a while.

Stellan shrugs. "I didn't want to be just another Career."

I nod in understanding.

"At least the Careers are two people short this year."

"What do you mean?" I ask him, stopping my knot to look at him. "Isn't the girl from District 1 in it?"

"Of course not!" Stellan snorts. "Have you seen her? The other Careers didn't even ask her to join. She couldn't hurt a flea. She'd be more of a hindrance than a help."

"Don't talk about her like that!" I snap, surprising myself.

Stellan looks wounded and shocked. He glances between me and the girl, who is still at the camouflage station.

"Sorry!" I blush, trying my best to not look at Stellan.

"It's fine. But," he smiles mischievously. "I think you have a thing for her."

"What? That's crazy. Why would I? I mean, who would? Not that she's not pretty. She's very pretty..." I trail off, realising too late I've said too much.

Stellan shakes his head in mock disappointment, and I can see he's resisting the urge to smirk.

"Jago, in a few days, we'll be forced to kill each other. And all you're thinking about is who looks cute?" he grins.

"Shut up!" I whip him on the arm with a rope. Stellan steals the rope out my hands and quickly ties it into a knot I was struggling to learn.

After I mastered a few basic knots, we moved on to the knives station. Apparently, back in District 4, Stellan had had no need to ever use a knife properly. Between the trainer and I, we taught him everything possible about knives.

For the next two days, the two of us trade knowledge with each other and gain more with the help of the trainers. We learn how to sword-fight, how to wrestle and decide which berries and mushrooms are poisonous.

We stay clear of the axe station, even though I can't help but stare longingly at it. Still, I don't break my promise to Crispin. Stellan isn't under the same rules as myself, and so I spend an hour watching him show off with the tridents.

The Careers continue to intimidate the rest of us. Lilibeth drifts from station to station. Despite previously thinking she didn't stand a chance, I can see she's really trying. I keep an eye on the girl from District 1, something which Stellan teases me about. She stays at the camouflage station, painting on everything but herself. The Gamemakers study us the whole time from a platform.

At lunchtime on the third day, the Tributes get called out one by one for their private session with the Gamemakers. Starting with District 1, boys and then girls. As the Tributes trickle in, the rest of us stay in the dining room, awaiting our turn anxiously.

When they call my name, I enter the gymnasium nervously. The Gamemakers all look bored as they swirl the glasses of wine in their hands. Immediately, I spot the bearded Head Gamemaker.

The gymnasium looks huge without the other Tributes to fill up the space. Even though there are endless possibilities, I instantly head over to the axe station. I can't help but run. The many axes scream my name.

I pick up a small silver axe. I gently stroke my finger over the sharp metal edge. It's brand new. It's completely different from the one I owned in District 7. The Capitol design makes it light and aerodynamic.

In my amazement, I've forgotten what I'm here for, and I can see the Gamemakers looking at me expectantly from the corner of my eye. I grab another axe in my left hand and go over to the shooting range. I stand about ten metres away from the bullseye I'm aiming for.

I lay the axe in my left hand down on the floor. I concentrate on the centre of the bullseye. With the axe in my right hand, I swing back. I release.

It whizzes straight above the bullseye, cutting into the wall behind it. I've thrown it too hard for such a light axe. From the Gamemakers' platform, I hear unimpressed mutters. Blushing, I pick up the axe on the floor.

I throw it, and it lands in the middle of the bullseye. Satisfied, I turn to smile at the Gamemakers. Now, they seem to be paying attention. I smile to myself, and continue to throw axes at the bullseye.

After a while of throwing the axes and not missing the bullseye, I realise the Gamemakers are beginning to lose interest. So I pick up a large red axe and go over to the various dummies set up at the knife station. I stand beside a particularly big one.

I swing the red axe behind my head and let go. The axe hits the surface of the dummy. There is a fraying sound as the fabric tears and the white stuffing spills out. The top half of the dummy lands on the floor.

There are several gasps from the Gamemakers.

Slowly, I go around the dummies, chopping them in half or slicing their heads off. The stuffing litters the floor untidily.

After my fifteen minutes are up, the Gamemakers politely dismiss me.

That evening, when Finbar arrives at my door to tell me it's dinner time, I bound out of the door, a smile stretching from ear to ear.

"So it went well, then?" asks Finbar, slightly bemused.

"Very well!" I reply.

When we arrive at the dining room, everyone else is already at the table, including our two stylists. Upon seeing me, Adira stands up and wanders over to me.

"Jago, my boy, how are you?" she asks me, clasping my face in her hands.

"I'm fine, thank you." I answer, sending an alarmed look to Crispin, who has to look down at the table to hide his smile.

Adira lets go of my face and returns to her seat, and Finbar and I take our own seats. The Capitol attendants start to serve our food. I tuck into a delicious carrot soup.

"So, how did your session go?" Finbar asks Lilibeth.

"Fine." she shrugs. I may not know Lilibeth very well, but I can tell there's something wrong with her.

"Jago says his session went very well!" says Finbar, turning his attention from Lilibeth to me. I nod.

"That's fantastic!" Adira beams. Crispin stays silent but smiles.

"What did you do?" asks Finbar.

"Just threw some axes and destroyed all of the dummies." I grin.

"I noticed." a disgruntled mumble comes from Lilibeth.

Oh dear. Had the dummies been part of her plan to impress the Gamemakers? How many other people had I accidentally sabotaged?

But then I remember we are in a fight to the death, and I shouldn't feel sorry for them. I should feel glad. By ruining other people's chance of survival, I have greatly improved my own.

When we finish dinner, we go through to the sitting room, to watch our scores being announced. A photo of each Tribute flashes on the screen followed by their score out of twelve. A score of one is terrible, whilst twelve is unbelievably good. Careers generally get a high score, and normal Tributes get about five. I'm hoping to get at least a six, with my performance.

The boy from District 1 gets a ten, which is easily predictable. The girl gets one. _One_. Gasps echo around the room. She's sure to die in the bloodbath at the start.

_Such a waste of a pretty face_, I think to myself.

The boy and girl from District 2 get eight and nine respectively. The pair from District 3 both get a six. Stellan gets a very good score of nine. The girl from District 4 gets eight. The Tributes from 5 and 6 get average scores. Then it's my turn.

A sullen photo of me appears, followed by a swirly number. Nine.

There are laughs and congratulations from everyone. But we can't celebrate for too long, as Lilibeth's score is shown. She rustles up a very respectable seven. I have no idea what she was so upset about. She seems to have cheered up slightly.

The Tributes from Districts 8 to 12 get mediocre or bad scores, but no-one is really listening. They're too busy opening the champagne and eating cake.

I exchange hugs with Adira, Finbar and even Crispin. I tersely shake Lilibeth's hand. Somehow, the announcement of our scores has reminded us that we are enemies.


End file.
